


The hazards (and possible benefits) of drinking games

by AirgiodSLV



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2009-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Okay, moving on,” Nate says. “Never have I ever made a sex tape.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The hazards (and possible benefits) of drinking games

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://adellyna.livejournal.com/profile)[**adellyna**](http://adellyna.livejournal.com/) on her birthday. Thanks to [](http://maleyka.livejournal.com/profile)[**maleyka**](http://maleyka.livejournal.com/) for editing and for always being the other 1/3 of our trio.

It’s been a good night so far. Partying with the Academy guys is always a fun time, and this time they’d even made the liquor run in preparation, so it’s half past three and the bottles aren’t empty yet. They’ve gotten past Kings and Siska’s own invention, Tequila Ideal, and are now on what will probably end up being the closer for the evening.

“Never have I ever…” Butcher begins, stroking his growing beard, “had to alter one of my tattoos.”

“What, for like, relationship reasons?” Ryland asks.

“Or if it just got fucked up, yeah,” Butcher says. “Crappy ink job, whatever.”

No one drinks, so Ryland claps his hands and moves on. “Never have I ever woken up with an animal beside me in bed.”

Alex rolls his eyes. Playing this game with Ryland and Alex is always interesting because they know the weirdest shit about each other. “It was a cat,” he says, drinking. “And no, I didn’t do anything _to it,_ there was just a cat in the apartment.”

“And no girl,” Ryland says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Okay, moving on,” Nate says. “Never have I ever made a sex tape.”

Victoria drinks, which Gabe already knew about. Obviously, when you meet a hot girl who’s into cameras, it’s one of the first questions you ask. Ryland drinks, which isn’t actually all that surprising.

William drinks.

“Holy shit,” Gabe says, leaning forward on his elbows into their haphazard circle. “Who? When?”

William just cuts his eyes sideways to Gabe, that little elusive almost-smile on his lips that means he thinks what Gabe is really after is details – about which he would be correct – and that he’s not giving it up.

“This isn’t 20 Questions,” Ryland says, swooping in to the rescue before Gabe can push for answers, probably because he can sense Gabe already veering off the track. “Next question.”

Mike is smirking when he says, “Never have I ever gone on a vendetta against a fast food chain because of a stupid party game.”

William rolls his eyes and drinks while the rest of them laugh. Gabe tries for, “Never have I ever made a sex tape with…” but gets booed down by Ryland and Alex.

“Move on,” Alex orders. “No targeting.”

“Funny how you say that now, and yet only moments before there was that oddly phrased question about zoo animals,” Ryland muses, tapping the neck of his bottle with one fingernail.

“Don’t push me,” Alex warns. “I’ll pull out never have I ever made out with Pete.”

“Bastard,” Ryland says.

“Never have I ever gotten off in a 69,” Victoria says loudly, and then drinks, which is interesting enough to keep Gabe distracted for the rest of the round.

The next day, though. The next day, he remembers.

*

It doesn’t take him long to come up with who it was. William has had surprisingly few sex partners in his life, and the ones he’s comfortable enough to do that sort of thing with are limited to the point that Gabe can count them on one hand.

It wasn’t Christine. It’s not that Christine’s not the type of girl to make a sex tape, because Gabe thinks she probably is, it’s more that William isn’t the kind of guy who’d make one with her. Christine had been butterflies and rosebuds and snuggling on the couch for hours during movie nights. William would never have even thought to ask for anything so crass.

It wasn’t William’s Mrs. Robinson, either. Gabe wouldn’t put it past her, but he knows the shit she did with William, has heard all the stories. William plays his relationships close to the vest, but only the ones that still mean something to him. If William had made a sex tape with her, Gabe would have heard about it long before this.

Which means it was Tom. Gabe doesn’t know where exactly to go from there, but he knows he’s right. Tom’s the only option left, and everything fits. Into cameras, into adventurous sex, into a relationship where they’d been doing anything and everything; at first because they’d wanted to do it all, and then because they were willing to try just about anything to make it work.

Gabe bides his time, waits for William to sink down beside him at the end of the day, still damp from the post-show shower. Then he casually asks, “So. Tom?”

William does that same look, that funny wary sideways glance, like he’s evaluating possible responses. “What?” he asks, which isn’t quite playing stupid, because William never does that, but it’s close. It’s more like feigned ignorance, but it’s far too late for that. The cat’s out of the bag.

“I’m thinking there’s a pretty short window,” Gabe muses aloud, stretching back on the sofa. “Between the two of you getting over your whole ‘it’s not gay if we just jerk each other off’ thing and when the band shit went down and the whole thing went sour. So maybe…Warped?”

William keeps eyeing him, but now he looks somewhat bewildered. “Considering I don’t tell you anything,” he says, “you know an awful lot about my sex life.”

“It’s a gift,” Gabe informs him graciously. “So, Warped? You wouldn’t have had the time or the room then, though, am I right? So just after? Or on a hotel night?”

“We didn’t do it in a hotel,” William says, which is the first sliver of information Gabe’s gotten out of him so far. It looks like the only thing he’s getting, as well, because William doesn’t say anything else.

“Your place or his?” Gabe asks casually.

William smiles a little, then stands up and stretches. “Go fish.”

*

There’s more than one way to skin a cat.

“Johnny Walker,” Gabe says when Jon picks up the phone. “Ever made a sex tape?”

Jon laughs. “Are you higher than usual?” he asks, which is an ironic question, considering Gabe can practically smell the pot fumes through the phone line.

“Come on, you like cameras,” Gabe croons. “You like sex. It’s an easy leap.”

“I think Cassie would kill me,” Jon replies. “Why, are you thinking of having one made?”

“Quote me your rates,” Gabe says, “I’ll consider it. But if you’ve never done it before, I might be looking for someone else. A professional. Know anyone who’s done the deed?”

“Yeah, probably,” Jon admits, with a little scratching noise that probably means he’s thinking about it. There’s a pause then, and Jon says with sudden understanding, “Oh, you mean _that_ tape.”

“What tape?” Gabe asks innocently. Jon has to know. William might not tell Gabe everything, but when they were on tour together, there was nothing Tom and Jon didn’t know about each other.

Jon snorts. “Don’t play innocent, you know which one.” He pauses again before asking, “Why now?”

“It came up,” Gabe says glibly. “I’m a curious man.”

“Killed the cat,” Jon points out.

“I have nine lives,” Gabe tells him with a smile. “I’ll take the risk.”

Jon makes a noise of acknowledgement that sounds sort of like he’s falling asleep, or maybe like he’s gotten distracted by the munchies. Gabe talks fast. “So, do they still have it? I don’t know how those things work, do you burn it after the break-up, or just recycle?”

“Dude,” Jon says, half-laughing. “Dude, I’m not telling you anything about Bill and Tom’s sex tape. Ask them yourself.”

“It’s Billvy,” Gabe points out. “He’s stonewalling me.”

“My heart bleeds for you,” Jon says solemnly. He’s been spending too much time with that little weirdo Ryan Ross. Gabe tells him so. Jon just laughs again and says, “There’s more than one way to get to the truth.”

Gabe has always liked the way Jon thinks. “The truth is out there,” he says by way of thanks.

Jon’s definitely gotten the munchies, because his answer comes cheerfully around a mouthful of something crunchy. “Rock on.”

*

The next time Gabe thinks about the whole sex tape thing, he’s jerking off.

It’s not like that, exactly; he’d been jerking off, and that got him thinking about sex, and that got him thinking about porn, and that brought him around to sex tapes. He’s seen amateur shit, lots of it. It’s not really his thing, but he does admire people who have the balls to do it, to just set up some cameras and lights and fuck in their own bedroom with shit piled on the bedside table and crooked paintings hung above the headboard and then put that shit out there for anyone to see.

He’s not thinking about William and Tom, specifically, until suddenly he is.

He thinks theirs probably looked good. Barring the obvious – it’s hard to make a crappy sex tape when you look the way Tom and William do – there’s also the fact that they know their shit. Tom spends half of his life behind a camera lens, and William spends half of his life in front of one. They could have made a tape of nothing but William jacking off and it would have been fucking amazing.

That gets him thinking, though, about what’s actually on it. He assumes it’s the two of them fucking, probably with some of that lead-up shit that’s always in pornos, with the making out and the slow handjobs and the moaning, even before the dicks come out. There’s probably a blowjob or two, getting each other ready. He wonders if they bothered with all of the prep shit you need when guys fuck, or if they took care of it in advance, before the camera started rolling.

Tom he can totally see. William he’s getting stuck on, because as much time as William spends on film, he doesn’t spend a lot of it being himself. There’s always a role he’s playing, or a show he’s putting on, and he’s hyper-aware of cameras, wary and concealed. Gabe doesn’t think being naked would help with the whole camera-shy thing much.

Maybe they set it up like a role-playing thing, though. Maybe William was in character, and that’s how he relaxed. Or maybe Tom had to coax him into it, get him to close his eyes and forget about the camera. Maybe he’d been blindfolded. Bandana over his eyes, wrists pinned down. Maybe the sex had been so good that he’d forgotten they were filming until he came so hard he almost blacked out. Maybe…

Gabe stops thinking, then, because he’s busy coming. He’s a little surprised that the thought of William and Tom, of all people, actually got him there, but he’s not going to complain. Another one for the spank bank. And anyway, sex tapes are hot. It’s not all that strange that he should be…interested.

He wipes his dick off and stops thinking about it.

*

They spend the night in Chicago, and Gabe crashes at William’s because it seems like the obvious choice. He’s done it enough that the routine of putting a case on the spare pillow and shoving his bag of travel toiletries onto the shelf beside the sink is automatic.

They drink half a bottle of tequila and don’t bother with glasses, sprawled out on William’s thrift store furniture listening to the latest demo sampler Pete had sent over. At some point Gabe gets bored with going through William’s CD collection – he’d bought most of these anyway – and starts in on the DVDs.

He’s not looking for anything in specific, just checking labels and flipping through stacks of jewel cases, snorting at William’s bootleg recordings of Top Gear and The L Word. There are a few that aren’t labeled in black Sharpie and William’s whippy handwriting, and Gabe sorts them out into a separate stack without thinking too much about it.

William watches him for a while from the couch, rolling the stem of a wine goblet between his fingers, the glass half-full of water. Finally he says, “It’s not here, you know.”

“What?” Gabe can play innocent with the best of them, although he doesn’t expect it to work so well this time. William knows him better than that.

True to his prediction, William just rolls his eyes. “What you’re looking for,” he says. “It’s not here.”

“Who said I’m looking for anything?” Gabe inquires, flashing a grin full of charming white teeth. He immediately contradicts himself by adding, “Where is it, then?”

William drinks some of his water. “Not here,” he says finally.

“Come on,” Gabe croons, rolling onto his stomach on the carpet and knocking a stack of jewel cases over in the process. “Give me more than that. What’s the harm?”

William kicks him off when Gabe tries to tickle his ankle, failing in his attempt to hide a smile behind the wine glass. “I’m not satisfying your prurient curiosity,” he pronounces firmly.

“My what?” Gabe asks. William must be drunker than he looks if he’s already pulling out the SAT words. They tend to become more complex in direct proportion to his level of inebriation. Getting William drunk is better than a Word of the Day calendar. “I can’t believe he even got you to agree to it, if you’re this secretive about it. Was there blackmail involved? A bet?”

“No,” William says, eyeing him sternly. “Gabe.”

“Did he tie you up before he set up the camera?” Gabe inquires, slithering closer to the couch and catching William’s ankle before he can kick again. “Tie you down? Were there blindfolds involved?” Fuck, he hopes there were blindfolds involved.

“ _Gabe,_ ” William says reprovingly.

Gabe holds both hands up, working his innocent expression again. “What? Just asking.”

William’s lips twitch, like he wants to smile but is still trying to look stern. Gabe tickles his ankle, and nearly loses an eye when William jerks out of his grip. “Stop,” William says, laughing, and Gabe rolls back over to see if he can find any recorded episodes of Gossip Girl.

*

Gabe gets tickets from a friend of a friend – he hasn’t paid to see a show in fifteen years – who doesn’t seem to know that Gabe already knows most of the band, which is how Gabe spends his evening watching Empires play an opening set in a small, packed club.

He also knows the dude working security for the headliners, which is also how he then ends up backstage while the second opener is on the way out, wandering down the hallway when Empires come pouring offstage.

Tom does a double-take, brow wrinkled in confusion before he places Gabe and it smoothes out. Gabe loses sight of him for a minute while he says hello to the other guys and techs he knows, but after the first six-pack of beer bottles goes around, he finds Tom leaning against the wall in the corner, picking the label off his bottle and watching Gabe.

Everyone else is settling in and they won’t be missed much, so Gabe holds up a spliff, smiling wide, and offers, “Join me for a cigarette break?”

Tom snorts softly, like he knows something’s up, but he pushes off the wall and follows Gabe out. He’s still got the sulky pretty-boy thing going on, hooded eyes and plump lips, and Gabe revises his mental video footage to include at least one scene of Tom giving a blowjob. That mouth deserves some time in the spotlight.

“What are you doing here?” Tom asks after they light up and take the first hits. It’s a fair question, Gabe supposes. He’s got nothing against Tom, and he wasn’t involved in the fall-out drama of Tom leaving the band, but he hasn’t made much of an effort to keep in touch. Still, Gabe isn’t one to choose sides. He managed to keep both Pete and Mikey as friends after their drama, after all; he has some experience in not burning bridges.

“I came to see a man about a horse,” Gabe answers, grinning as much as he can while inhaling. “Or, y’know, a video tape. Still potentially incriminating.”

Tom’s brow furrows again, and then his expression abruptly goes blank, and Gabe knows they’re both on the same page. Tom leans back against the wall for a while, silent, and Gabe lets it be, giving Tom some time to think it over.

“He didn’t tell you,” Tom says finally, his face weirdly lit by the orange glow. It’s not a question; Tom knows William too.

“Never have I ever,” Gabe confesses.

Tom snorts again, inhaling deep, and lets the smoke out slowly. He passes the joint back to Gabe and says, “You came here for that?”

“Call it prurient curiosity,” Gabe says, his mouth twitching to hold in the grin.

“Killed the cat,” Tom replies, watching Gabe sideways.

Gabe laughs, passing the joint back. It’s nearly burned down now; he waves Tom off when he offers it back. “So I hear.”

Tom finishes off the joint, getting in a few more hits before he finally tosses it onto the concrete and grinds it out under his heel. When he looks back up at Gabe, his expression is inscrutable. “He told you I had it?” he asks, squinting into the light from the parking lot.

Gabe bobs his head. “Well, not that it was you,” he admits. “That part I guessed. Not really anyone else it could be.”

Tom makes a little “hmm” noise and looks back down at the concrete. Eventually he looks back up at Gabe and shakes his head. “Sorry, can’t help you,” he says. “I don’t have it anymore.”

Gabe’s surprised by how sharp the disappointment is. “It’s cool,” he says, grinning to cover it. “Like I said, idle curiosity.”

“I’ll tell you the next time I make one,” Tom says, cocking an eyebrow.

“Awesome,” Gabe replies easily. “Hey, I didn’t mention before, but great set.”

Tom considers him for another minute. Gabe feels weirdly like they’re coming full circle, somehow. “Thanks,” he says finally. Then, “Stick around, we’ll go out for beers after the show.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Gabe tells him. Tom straightens up, nodding, and Gabe follows him back into the club.

*

There’s a mini-disk in Gabe’s bunk when he gets back to it after the show. He looks up and down the bus for any sign of the perpetrator, but Victoria’s listening to music – he can hear her humming absent-mindedly from her bunk – and Ryland and Alex went out for drinks while they had a spare hour, choosing not to spend it in their box on wheels. Nate’s in the lounge, but pranks aren’t Nate’s style.

He thinks about putting it in someone else’s computer to watch it, just in case, but he doesn’t think any of them would actually give him a virus or any of that shit, and since he doesn’t know what’s on it, it seems like a good idea to keep it to himself for now.

He flips on the power to his laptop, arranges himself as comfortably as he can ever manage in his bunk, and slides the disk in. He plays something off his iTunes while it queues up, and then mutes it when he hears voices in the background. He maximizes the video player and has to take a second to figure out why it looks so familiar. It sounds familiar, too, but the volume is down too low for voice recognition until he turns it up, sliding his earphones on to keep it private, just as William walks into the shot.

“…not really doing this,” William’s saying, pointedly ignoring the camera and addressing someone out of shot. “Are we?”

“You said anything,” someone else says. Tom.

Holy _shit._

“I have a coupon,” Tom continues, half-laughing. The camera is blocked for a second; Tom’s hand, apparently, holding a piece of paper too blurry to be legible. When the paper retreats, William is rolling his eyes, but sitting on the bed. Sitting on the _bed._ They’re in William’s fucking bedroom in Chicago, Jesus Christ.

“Anniversary gifts are not to be abused,” William counters. His gaze flicks to the camera for the first time, and away just as fast; William can’t be in the same room as a camera and _not_ be aware of it, but he’s obviously trying.

The camera shakes for a second, adjusting, zooming in on William’s face and then back out, slowly. It focuses on the bed and jiggles again before steadying. William’s ignoring it again, painfully obvious, hands twisting in his lap. Tom walks back into the shot and sits on the edge of the bed. He ignores the camera as well, but it’s more natural, relaxed.

He says something Gabe can’t make out. Frowning, Gabe hits pause, takes it back a few seconds and replays. Tom walks into the shot again, clothes rustling louder now, and sits down.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says, low and reassuring.

William darts another look at the camera, rabbit-quick. “No,” he says, voice gaining some confidence as he squares his shoulders. “It’s okay. Let’s do it.”

Tom takes him at his word, apparently; he leans forward and catches William’s mouth with his.

Gabe hits pause again. “Holy _shit_ ,” he says out loud. He shrinks the video player, staring at his desktop background for a minute while his brain spins. Ceiling cat watches him from his computer screen. It’s kind of ironically appropriate.

No one comes to investigate his outburst – Victoria is still humming – so he gives it a few more seconds, then brings the video up again and presses play.

They’re still kissing. Gabe watches their lips move against each other, slow and knowing, and his stomach twists a little. He’s never seen Tom and William kiss, not like this. They’re both private people, and a band full of rock dudes isn’t exactly the place to be out and proud. It’s what he’d imagined – they’re both aware of the camera in a way amateurs aren’t, knowing when and how to shift, which arm to raise to cradle each other’s faces – but he hadn’t factored in the fact that they’re also a couple, or they were when this was filmed. Camera or not, they kiss like they’re in fucking love.

There are the usual amateur porn wet kissing noises, their tongues sliding together at the center of the frame, and then Tom catches the hem of William’s shirt and tugs it up, silently questioning. William leans back, smiling faintly, and Tom pulls the shirt up and over his head.

Gabe’s seen William shirtless before. Gabe’s seen William shirtless a _lot_. That was always for some other reason, though, and nothing like this. This is William shirtless because he’s about to have sex. On camera. On Gabe’s laptop.

“Holy _shit._ ”

*

He doesn’t see William until they stop for lunch on the road, at which point he lets his guys know he’s switching buses and hops on with the Academy. Mike looks unsurprised to see him there, but then they’ve all done their share of swapping around rides on tour. Gabe lifts a hand in greeting on his way past and heads to the back lounge.

William looks up from his laptop when Gabe comes in, and then back down again when he sees who it is. His expression gives him away, though, transparent as ever. William can’t lie to save his life.

“So, hey,” Gabe says casually, dropping down on the nearest beanbag. “I got a present in my bunk last night.”

William keeps his eyes fixed on the screen for another moment, then looks up with a quiet sigh and pushes down his laptop lid until it clicks. “You watched it?”

“Yeah.” Gabe tilts his head, watching William’s face. “You said you didn’t have it.”

“I said it wasn’t in my apartment,” William corrects. “I keep it in my notebook, which was on the bus.” He holds up the battered notebook by way of explanation, tilting it from side to side.

“So why’d you give it up?” Gabe asks. It’s the thought that’s been intriguing him the most since the fucking thing showed up in his bunk. After all that trouble to hide it, why hand it over now?

William crosses his arms, defensive posture number one. Gabe recognizes the signs and keeps his body deliberately relaxed, waiting him out. “You went to Tommy for it,” William says, and there’s no way it’s anything but an accusation. His face twists up when he says, “I figured you must have wanted it pretty fucking badly to go to that much trouble.”

“Hey, woah,” Gabe says, sitting upright. He hadn’t thought William would hear about that. He pauses, eyebrow quirking in question.

William shrugs, still frowning. “Butcher.”

That explains that. Gabe studies William for a few seconds, considering, and then brings the mini-disk out of his pocket, turning it over between his fingers. “I didn’t watch it.”

William looks over sharply, but remains silent. Gabe clears his throat and keeps going.

“Well, not all of it. I watched some of it. But you didn’t seem all that keen on me knowing about it, so I thought I’d come see what the deal was.” He flips the disk towards William, who catches it in one hand with those insane freakish reflexes of his, startled into motion. Gabe smiles and says, “Besides, it’s not really my thing anyway.”

William looks like he wants to call him out on that, but he doesn’t. Instead he says slowly, “Thanks.”

Gabe waves a hand magnanimously. It’s a word he learned from William after one too many vodka shots on tour last summer. He likes the weight of it.

“I was thinking, anyway,” he says, watching William’s eyes again. “If you didn’t want to hold onto it, maybe we could record over it.”

William goes very still. “Record what?” he asks warily.

Gabe shrugs, continuing with his magnanimosity. “Whatever you want,” he says, letting a hint of humor seep into the words. “I’m easy.”

William looks at the mini-disk in his hand, then back at Gabe. “Uh-huh,” he says.

Gabe grins. “We might want to practice some first, though, get our routine down. We’re too professional to go into performance without rehearsals.” He’s enjoying this too much, the faint stain of color creeping up on William’s collarbone and the sharp, suspicious look William still has narrowed on him.

“Your seduction technique could use some work,” William says finally. He chucks the mini-disk back at Gabe, who fumbles it.

“Hey, I could have watched this and then offered to give you pointers,” Gabe suggests, dropping the disk onto the floor beside the beanbag. “Give me _some_ credit.”

William snorts, but he’s relaxing slowly, unwinding. Gabe lets himself sprawl again, enjoying the moment. He wonders how many days they have now until they spend the night somewhere with a door that locks.

“You’ve never wanted an audition before,” William comments, with a forced casual tone that Gabe might not have seen through if it had been anyone else.

He wants to know if William thought about this before he did. He wants to know how long, if he has, and whether there’s a reason William worked so hard to keep this mini-disk out of his reach. He wants to know why William didn’t conk him over the head with it earlier, so that Gabe could get a clue and they could be fucking already.

Instead he pulls the other beanbag over next to him and pats it until there’s a William-sized indent. After another minute, William slithers down to join him. Gabe bumps their shoulders together and says, “Maybe I didn’t realize I could guest-star on the show.”

William makes a face at him. “That’s a terrible metaphor.”

Gabe grins and nudges him again. “Hey, I’m working with what I got, cut me some slack.” He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind William’s ear, because he can probably do that shit and get away with it, and he thinks maybe he wants to. William looks back at him while he does it, measuring and considering.

Gabe decides not to wait for the verdict. He rolls sideways, beans crunching cheerfully underneath him, until he can catch William’s chin in his hand. This part is surprisingly easy. This part has always been easy.

He kisses William the way he has on at least four separate occasions in the past, but this time he kisses like he means it, like he wants more out of this than just a kiss. This time he pays attention to William’s breathing, and the silk-slip of his hair through Gabe’s fingers, and the way his lips part almost reluctantly, after a great deal of coaxing from Gabe’s tongue. This time he doesn’t stop at chaste.

When they part, William licks his lips, and Gabe almost leans right back in again to chase his tongue. Jesus Christ, he’s an idiot. He can’t believe it took him this long. William looks like he just might be thinking the same thing.

“Okay,” William says, smiling slightly. “You’ve got yourself a screen test.”


End file.
